THE WHITE DOVE.
"Oh! good is the sunlight that glances,
And good are the buds and the birds;
And so all the innocent fancies
Our lips can express make good words."
"There was once a little girl," said Miss Goldy-hair, "whose every-day
life was rather dull and hard. In some ways I think it was duller than
the lives of quite poor children, and in some ways I am not sure but
that it was harder too. For though not really poor--that is to say, they
had enough to eat in a plain way and clothes to wear of a plain
kind--still her parents were what is called struggling people. And they
had a great many children, little and big, of whom my little girl--Letty
was her name--was one of the middle ones. No, I should hardly say one of
the middle ones, for there were two older and five younger, so she was
more like a big one. But she was small and delicate and seemed younger
than she really was. They lived in a town--in the very middle of it;
they had to do so on account of the father's work--and it was one of the
ugliest towns you could imagine. Yet strange to say, the country round
about this town was very--what people call picturesque, if you know what
that means? There were hills, and valleys, and nice woods, and
chattering streams at but a very few hours' journey off. But many of the
people of the town hardly knew it; they were so hard-worked and so busy
about just gaining their daily bread, that they had no time for anything
else. And of all the hard-worked people, I do not know that any were
more so than Letty's parents. If they had been much poorer than they
were, and living quite in the country, I do not think Letty would have
been so much to be pitied--not in the summer time any way, for then
there are so very many pleasures that even the poorest cannot be
deprived of. As it was she had almost _no_ pleasures; her mother was
kind, but always busy, and, as is often the case, so much taken up with
her very little children that she _could not_ think so very much about
Letty. The big brother of fourteen was already at work, and the sister
of thirteen was strong and tall, and able to find pleasure in things
that were no pleasure to Letty. She, the big sister I mean, was still
at school, and clever at her lessons, so she got a good deal of praise;
and she had already begun to learn dressmaking, and was what people
called 'handy with her needle,' so she was thought a great deal of at
home and was neither timid nor shy. Letty was not clever in any way, and
very timid--her pleasures were of a kind that her life made impossible
for her. She liked beautiful things, she liked soft lovely colours, and
gentle voices and tender music. Rough tones really hurt her, and ugly
things caused her actual pain. Sometimes when her mother told her to go
out and walk with the others, she just begged to stay at home, without
being able to say why, for she could not have explained how the sight of
the dark, grey streets of houses dulled her, how the smoke-dried grass
that had never had a chance of being green in the fields a little way
out of the town, and the dreadful black-looking river that some old, old
men in the town still remembered a clear sparkling stream, made her
perfectly miserable. It was strange, for she had never known anything
else--she had never seen the real country--all her life she had lived, a
poor stunted little plant, in the same dingy little house, with the
small rooms and steep, narrow staircase, and with a sort of constant
untidiness about it, in spite of her poor mother's care and striving.
But nobody thought much about poor Letty--she was humble and
sweet-tempered and never put herself forward, and so it never entered
any one's head to wonder if she was happy or not.
"One day her mother sent her a message--and as it was a message, of
course Letty never thought of saying she would rather not go--to a house
further out of the town than Letty had ever been alone, and as it was
rather a fine day, that is to say, it was not raining, and up in the sky
about the place where the sun ought to be there was a faintly bright
look in the clouds, her mother told her if she liked she might take a
turn before coming home. But Letty did not care to stay out--she left
the message, and then turned to hurry home as fast as she could. She was
hastening along, when a faint sound caught her ears, and looking round
she saw lying on the ground a few steps from her a beautiful white dove.
It seemed in pain, for it tried to move, and after fluttering a few
steps fell down again, and Letty saw that one wing was dragging in a way
it shouldn't, and she thought to herself it must be broken. Her kind
heart was always quick to feel pity, and she gently lifted the bird, and
sitting down on the ground tried to find out what was wrong. But she was
half afraid to touch the wing for fear of hurting the bird more, and
was quite at a loss what to do, when suddenly a very soft cooing voice
reached her ears. It was so soft that it didn't startle her, still she
felt, as you can fancy, _very_ much surprised to hear a little dove
talking.
"'Don't be afraid, Letty,' it said. 'Put your hand in your pocket and
you will find a white ribbon. With that you must bind up my wing.'
"Letty put her hand in her pocket as if she couldn't help doing so,
though she felt sure there was no ribbon in it. To her surprise she drew
out a piece of the prettiest, softest ribbon she had ever seen--pure
white and satiny--softer than satin even. And too surprised, as it were,
to speak, she carefully and tenderly bound it round the dove's body in
such a way as to support the wing. No sooner was it firmly tied, than to
her increased surprise, the dove raised itself, gave a sort of flutter,
and rose in the air. It hovered a few moments over her head, and Letty
held her breath, in fear that it was going to fly away, when, as
suddenly as it had left her, it fluttered back again, and perching on
her knees, looked at her with its soft plaintive eyes.
"'What can I do for you, little girl?' it said, 'for you have cured my
wing,' and looking at it closely, Letty saw it was true. Both wings were
perfectly right, and the pretty white ribbon was now tied like a
necklace two or three times loosely round its neck. And at last Letty
found voice to reply--
"'Oh, white dove,' she said, 'you are a fairy. I see you are. Oh, white
dove, take me with you to Fairyland.'
"'Alas!' said the dove, 'that I cannot do. But see here, little girl,'
and as he spoke he somehow managed to slip the ribbon off his neck. 'I
give you this. It will open the door if you are good and gentle and do
your work well.'
"The ribbon fluttered to Letty's feet, for with his last words the dove
had again risen in the air. Letty eagerly seized it, for she saw
something was fastened to it--to the ribbon I mean. Yes--a little key
was hanging on it--a tiny little silver key, and Letty would have
admired it greatly but for her anxiety to get some explanation from the
dove before it flew away.
"'_What_ door does it open?' she said. 'Oh, white dove, how shall I know
what to do with it?'"
[Illustration: "Wait for the first moonlight night and you will see,"
said the dove, and then it flew off.]
"'The door of the garden where I live. That is what it opens. Wait for
the first moonlight night and you will see,' said the dove, and then it
flew off, higher and higher up into the sky, already growing dusk and
gray, for the winter was not far off.
"Letty looked again at her precious key. Then very carefully she folded
up the ribbon with the key in the centre of it and hid it in the front
of her dress, and feeling as if she were in a dream, she made her way
home.
"For some days nothing more happened. But Letty waited patiently till
the time should come which the bird had spoken of. And the looking
forward to this made the days pass quickly and less dully, and often and
often she said over to herself, 'if you are good and gentle and do your
work well,' and never had she tried more to be good and helpful, so that
one day her mother said, 'Why, Letty dear, you're getting as quick and
clever as Hester.' Hester was the big sister--and Letty said to herself
that the dove had made her happier already, and that night when she went
to sleep she had a sort of bright feeling that she never remembered to
have had before.
"'I think it must be going to be moonlight,' she thought to herself. But
when she looked out of the window the dull little street was all wet,
she could see the puddles glistening in the light of the lamps--it was
raining hard.
"Letty gave a little sigh and went to bed. She had a little bed to
herself, though there were two others in the room, for her elder sister
and two of the younger ones.
"In the middle of the night Letty awoke--the rain was over evidently,
for the room was filled with moonlight. Letty started up eagerly, and
the first thing that caught her sight was a door at the foot of her bed,
a common cupboard door, it seemed, with a keyhole in it. It was the
keyhole I think which first caught her attention, and yet surely the
door had always been there before?--at least--at least she thought it
had. It was very queer that she could not quite remember. But she jumped
out of bed--softly, not to wake her sisters, and though half laughing at
her own silliness in imagining her tiny silver key could fit so large a
lock, she yet could not help trying it. She had the key and the ribbon
always with her, carefully wrapped up, and now she drew out the key and
slipped it in, and, wonderful to tell, it fitted as if made for the
lock. Letty, holding her breath with eagerness, turned it gently--the
door yielded, opening inwards, and Letty, how, exactly, she never knew,
found herself inside----what, do you think?"
"The cupboard of course," said Tom.
"Were there olanges and bistwicks in there?" said Racey.
"Oh, Racey!" I exclaimed. "No, let _me_ guess, Miss Goldy hair. She
found herself in the bird's garden."
"Yes," said Miss Goldy-hair, "she found herself standing in the middle
of a most lovely garden. Nothing that poor Letty had ever seen in her
life could have given her any idea--not the faintest--of anything so
beautiful, though for you, children, who have lived in the country and
know what grass _can_ be, and what trees, whose leaves have never known
smoke, can look like, it is not so impossible as it would have been for
her, to picture to yourselves this delicious garden. There were flowers
of every shape and hue; there were little silvery brooks winding in and
out, sometimes lost to view among the trees, then suddenly dancing out
again with a merry rush; there were banks to run down and grottos to
lose your way in--there was just everything to make a garden delightful.
And yet, after all, the word 'garden' scarcely describes it--it was more
like a home for honeysuckle and eglantine than like what _we_ generally
call a garden, with trimly-cut beds and parterres of brilliant roses.
There was a beautiful wildness about it and yet it was _perfectly_ in
order--there was no sign of withering or decay, no dead leaves lying
about, no broken or dried-up branches on the trees, though they were
high and massive and covered with foliage--it was all fresh and blooming
as if nothing hurtful or troubling had ever entered it. The water of
the streams was pure and clear as crystal, the scent of the flowers was
refreshing as well as sweet.
"Letty looked about her in a happiness too great for words--the sight
and feeling of this lovely garden were for the poor tired and dulled
little girl, ecstasy past telling. She did not care to go running about
to find where the streams came from or to pluck the flowers, as some
children would have done. She just sat down on the delicious grass and
rested her tired little head on a bank and felt _quite_ happy.
"'Oh, thank you, white dove,' she said aloud, 'for bringing me here. He
said he could not take me to Fairyland,' she added to herself, 'but no
Fairyland could be more beautiful than this,' and she sat there with the
soft warm sunlight falling on her--such sunlight as never in her life
she had seen before--the brooks dancing along at her feet, the gentle
little breezes kissing her face, in, as I said, complete content.
Suddenly from the groves here and there about the garden, there came the
sound of warbling birds. There were many different notes, even Letty
could distinguish that--there was the clear song of the lark, the
thrilling melody of the nightingale--even, most welcome of all to Letty,
the soft coo of the dove--there were these and a hundred others--but all
in perfect tune together. And as she listened, the music seemed to come
nearer and nearer, till looking up, Letty saw the whole band of
songsters approaching her--hundreds and hundreds of birds all slowly
flying together till they lighted on a low-growing band of trees not far
from where she sat. And now Letty understood that this beautiful garden
was the home of the birds as the dove had said. And when the concert was
over she saw, to her delight, a single white dove separate himself from
the rest and fly to where she sat. She knew him again--she felt sure it
was her dove and no other.
"'Are you pleased, little Letty?' he said, in his soft cooing voice.
"'Oh! dear white dove, how can I thank you?' she answered.
"'You need not thank me,' he said. 'I have done only what I was meant to
do. Now listen, Letty; the pleasures of this garden are endless, never,
if you lived to a thousand, could you see all its beauties. And to those
who have found the way here, it will never be closed again but by their
own fault. You may come here often for rest and refreshment--in
childhood and womanhood and even in quite old age, and you will always
be welcome. You may perhaps never see me again, but that will not
matter. I am only a messenger. Remember all I say, be gentle and good
and do your work well, and whenever the moonlight shows you the door,
you will find entrance here.'
"He gently raised his wings and flew away--to join the other birds who
were already almost out of sight. And a pleasant sleepy feeling came
over Letty. She closed her eyes, and when she woke it was morning--she
was in her own little bed in the dull room she shared with her sisters,
and Hester was already up and dressed and calling to her to make haste.
But it was not a dream, for firmly clasped in her hand was the silver
key and the white ribbon.
"'How did it get there?' said Letty to herself, for she could not
remember having taken it out of the lock. 'The white dove must have
brought it back to me,' she thought."
"And was the cupboard door still in the wall?" I asked eagerly.
"Yes," said Miss Goldy-hair; "and when Letty, still hardly awake, said
something to Hester about whether it had always been there, Hester
laughed at her and said, 'Yes, of course; had Letty never seen inside
it?--it was where mother kept the best linen.' And so Letty said no more
about it--she knew she would only have been laughed at and perhaps
scolded, and yet she knew there was nothing wrong in her beautiful
secret, so she just kept it in her own little heart.
"The days went on, and life seemed now quite a different thing to Letty;
through all the tiredness and dulness the thought of the fairy garden
which she was free to enter cheered and strengthened her. She did not go
_very_ often--it would not perhaps have been good for her to go too
constantly--but every moonlight night she was sure to wake at the right
moment, and if I had time I could tell you many things of the new
beauties she found at each visit. But there came a time--it was
miserable, cold, rainy winter weather, and the sky was so covered with
clouds that neither sunlight nor moonlight could get through--when for
several weeks Letty had no chance of getting to the garden--the moon
never shone, and do what she would she never woke up. She grew impatient
and discontented; she did her work less willingly, and answered crossly
when her mother reproved her. And one night she went to bed in a very
bad humour, saying to herself the dove had deceived her, or some
nonsense like that. Two or three hours later she woke suddenly--to her
delight the moon was shining brightly. Up jumped Letty and got her key
ready. It slipped as usual into the lock, but, alas! do what she would
she could not turn it. She pulled and pushed, she twisted about and
tried to turn it by main force. Fortunately it was a fairy key,
otherwise it certainly would have been broken. And at last in despair
she sat down on the edge of her bed and cried. Suddenly the words came
into her mind--'Be good and gentle and do your work well--if the door is
ever closed to you it will be by your own fault,' and Letty's conscience
whispered to her that it _was_ by her own fault."
Miss Goldy-hair paused a minute as if she wanted to hear what we had to
say.
"And did she never get in again?" said Tom. "Oh, poor Letty!"
"Oh yes," said Miss Goldy-hair, "she took her punishment well, and
though a good while passed before she had another chance of visiting the
garden, she was very patient and did her best. And when a moonlight
night did come again it was all right--the key turned without the least
difficulty. And never had the garden seemed to her more beautiful than
this time, and never had Letty felt more cheered and refreshed by its
sweet air and sunshine and all its lovely sights and sounds. And now,
dears, I must leave off, for it is almost time for me to go home; and
indeed if I went on talking all night I could never tell you a half nor
a quarter of the pleasures of Letty's wonderful garden."
Miss Goldy-hair stopped.
"Didn't her never have nussing to eat in that garden?" said Racey.
Miss Goldy-hair smiled.
"I dare say she did," she said. "You may fancy she did. If you fancy all
the nicest and prettiest things you know, you will not be wrong."
"Oh," said Tom, "that's very nice. We can make plays to ourselves about
Letty's garden. Did she keep going till she was big? Did she never lose
the key?"
"Never," said Miss Goldy-hair. "She never lost the key. And she went not
only when she was big, but when she was old, quite old. Indeed she got
fonder and fonder of it the longer she lived, and it helped her through
a hard and often suffering life. And I don't know but what in quite old
age her visits to the garden were the happiest of all."
"Miss Goldy-hair," I said, "isn't there something to find out like in
the story of Letty?"
Miss Goldy-hair smiled.
"Think about it," she said. "I suspect you will be able to tell me
something if you do."
But the boys didn't care to find out anything else. They thought it was
great fun to play at Letty and the dove, and they pretended to get into
the garden through the door of the cupboard where our cloaks hung. And
the play lasted them for a good while without their getting tired of
it, and Miss Goldy-hair was quite pleased, and said that was one way of
turning the key in the lock, and not a bad way either for such little
boys. Her saying that puzzled me a little at first, but then it came
clearer to me that by the beautiful garden she meant all sweet and
pretty fancies and thoughts which help to brighten our lives, and that
these will come to children and big people too whose hearts and minds
are good and gentle and kind.
The next day Tom was better, and two or three days after that we went at
last to dinner and tea at Miss Goldy-hair's. If I were to tell you all
we did, and what pretty things she showed us, and how delighted Racey
was with the _inside_ of her air-garden, it would take a whole other
book. For just fancy, we have counted over the lines and the pages I
have written, and there is actually enough to make a whole little book,
and just in _case_, you know, of its ever coming to be printed, it's
better for me to leave it the right size. And besides that, I don't know
that I have very much more to tell that would be interesting, for the
happy days that now began for us passed very much like each other in
many ways. Our new nurse came and she turned out very kind, and I think
she was more sensible than poor Pierson in some ways, for she managed
to get on better with Mrs. Partridge. But as for poor Mrs. Partridge,
she didn't trouble us much, for her rheumatism got so very bad that all
that winter she couldn't walk up-stairs though she managed to fiddle
about down-stairs in her own rooms and to keep on the housekeeping. And
this, by the by, brings me to the one big thing that happened, which you
will see all came from something that I told you about almost at the
beginning of this little story.
All through this winter, as you will have known without my telling you,
of course our happiness came mostly from Miss Goldy-hair. She didn't
often come to see us after Tom got better, but at least twice a week
_we_ went to see _her_. And what happy days those were! It was she that
helped us with everything--she held Racey's hand for him to write a
letter "his own self," to mother; she showed me how to make, oh! _such_
a pretty handkerchief-case to send mother for her birthday; and taught
Tom how to plait a lovely little mat with bright-coloured papers. She
helped me with my music, which I found very tiresome and difficult at
first, and she was so dear and good to us that when at last as we got to
understand things better, it had to be explained to us that not three
months but three _years_ must pass before we could hope to see papa and
mother again, it did not seem nearly so terrible as it would have done
but for having her. She put it such a nice way.
"You can learn so much in three years," she said. "Think how much you
can do to please your mother in that time." And it made us feel a new
interest in our lessons and in everything we had to learn.
Well, one day in the spring Uncle Geoff told me that he had a plan for
us he wanted to consult me about. He smiled a little when he said
"consult," but I had learned not to take offence at Uncle Geoff's
smiles.
"Poor old Partridge is going to leave us, Audrey," he said. "She feels
she is no longer fit for the work, and indeed it would have been better
if she had said so before. I think her feeling it and not liking to say
so had to do with the troubles when you first came."
"But she's never vexed with us now," I said eagerly. "Nurse is very nice
to her, and then Miss Goldy-hair told us about Mrs. Partridge being so
old, and that we should be res--respecting and all that way to her."
"'Respectful,' you mean, my dear," said Uncle Geoff smiling a little,
for I had stumbled over the word. "Ah yes--I think Miss Goldy-hair has
been a sort of good fairy to us all;" and then he went on to tell me his
plan. He was going to make some changes in the house, he said. Several
of the rooms were to be painted and done up new, and it would be better
for us to be away for two or three weeks. So what do you think he had
thought of--wasn't it a good idea?--he had written to Pierson to ask if
she could find rooms for us in her village, and she had written back to
say she had two very nice rooms in her own house which she was meaning
to let to visitors in the summer time, and oh! she would be so pleased
to have us! So it was settled, and in a week or two we went--Tom, Racey,
and I, with our kind nurse. Uncle Geoff himself took us to the station,
and though we were in high spirits we really felt sorry to leave him;
and I felt quite pleased when he said, "It will be nice to have you back
again, looking very strong and rosy."
We had said good-bye to Miss Goldy-hair the night before, and even
though it was only for a little while we really nearly cried.
"You'll come to see us as soon as ever we come back, Miss Goldy-hair,
won't you?" said Tom.
"Yes," said Miss Goldy-hair, "you may be sure of that."
"The first evening," persisted Tom, "the very first evening?" and rather
to my surprise--for generally when the boys teased like that about
settling anything _exactly_, Miss Goldy-hair would reply, "I can't
_promise_," or "We'll see nearer the time "--she answered again,
"Yes, Tom dear. I'll be here the very first evening."
[Illustration: Racey was really rather frightened of him, he looked so
black and queer.]
So we went, and we stayed a month--four whole weeks. And we were very
happy, for the weather was fine and we were out nearly all day gathering
primroses and daffodils; and Pierson was very kind indeed, and her
husband was very polite, though the first time Racey saw him in the
smithy he was really rather frightened of him, he looked so black and
queer. And Cray was really a very pretty village, just as Pierson had
said, and we had no lessons and lots of fresh eggs and new milk. So
altogether it was very nice. But yet when the last evening came we
couldn't help saying to each other--though of course we were sorry to
leave Pierson--that for _always_, you know, counting rainy days and all,
we'd rather be in London with Uncle Geoff, and with dear Miss Goldy-hair
coming to see us. And we thought--Tom and I at least--_what_ a good
thing it was we had lost our way that night and had found Miss
Goldy-hair, instead of running away to Pierson. And all the way home in
the train we kept thinking how nice it would be to see her--Miss
Goldy-hair--again, and wondering if she'd be at the house when we got
out of the cab. Uncle Geoff we knew we'd see at the station, for he had
sent us a letter to Cray to say he'd be there, and so he was.
He looked so merry and nice we somehow were surprised.
"Uncle Geoff," I said to him, "you must have enjoyed yourself very much
when you were away. You look so very merry."
"Yes," he said smiling, "I enjoyed my holiday very much."
We knew he had been away, for he had written to tell us.
"Do you think Miss Goldy-hair will be at the house to see us when we get
there?" I asked. "Have you seen her while we were away?"
"Yes," said Uncle Geoff. "I have, and I think she will be there."
The cab stopped. Out we all jumped. What a different coming from the
last time!--for there in the hall, looking as if she would have liked to
run out into the street to see us, stood dear Miss Goldy-hair.
We all flew into her arms. Then we all looked at her. She seemed a
little different. She had a grey dress--a very pretty one--instead of
her black one. She had put it on, she told us afterwards, on purpose for
this evening, though she had still to wear black for a good while.
"Miss Doldy-hair," said Racey, "is you doin' to stay to tea? You has no
bonnet on."
By this time we were all in the dining-room, where the table was spread
out for a most beautiful tea.
"Yes, Racey, if you'll have me, I'll stay to tea," she said. And then
she looked up at Uncle Geoff.
"Children," he said, "you'll have to find a new name for Miss
Goldy-hair, or rather I've found one for you. How would 'Auntie' do?"
Tom and Racey stared, but I, being so much older, of course understood.
To Uncle Geoff's surprise I jumped up into his arms and kissed him.
"Oh, Uncle Geoff," I cried, "oh, _what_ a good plan! Is she really our
auntie now?"
"_Really_," said Uncle Geoff, "that's to say, she's been your stupid old
uncle's wife for a fortnight."
Then the boys understood too. But Racey looked rather disconsolate. "I
thought," he said, "Miss Doldy-hair was doin' to mally _me_."
But in the end he too thought it a very good plan, when he found that
our new auntie was really going to live with us always. And I think one
of the things that helped to please him _quite_ was the discovery of a
beautiful air-garden, which Uncle Geoff had had built out of one of the
drawing-room windows for Miss Goldy-hair's pet plants.
* * * * *
Papa and mother have come home since then, for, as I told you, all these
things happened a very long time ago--five whole years ago.
And we are, I think, the happiest children in the whole world, for we
have not only our own dear mother, but our own dear auntie too--the
auntie who was so good and kind to us when we were forlorn and
misunderstood, and might so easily have got into naughty ways; and who
taught us to be--or at least to try to be--all our dear mother hoped. We
live very near Uncle Geoff's, for papa got to be something more clever
still when he came back from China, and had to give up living in the
country. We were rather sorry for that, but still perhaps we enjoy it
all the more when we go there in the summer. And I have an air-garden of
my own, which would be very nice if the boys wouldn't try experiments on
the plants in the holidays.
And you have _no idea_ how fond mother and auntie are of each other, and
how often we all talk over how the boys and I found our dear Miss
Goldy-hair that rainy evening when we lost our way in the London
streets.
THE END.